


The flesh

by erikwhxxt



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, Love, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27696130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erikwhxxt/pseuds/erikwhxxt
Summary: "The darkness of the music of the night"Christine can feel, her eyes have disappeared but the sensations are heightened.Christine listens to the music of the night.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Kudos: 12





	The flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Blood, pleasure, sex explicitly mentioned, perspective of Erik and Christine mixed. It’s my first attempt at this kind of thing.
> 
> This started where I try to make the USA tour's “Music of the Night” less worse, a lot of the brilliant and original

Dark, sensual, rapt.

Christine had never felt a similar sensation, in the hair of her skin you could appreciate with a simple touch the excitement that she was feeling in the dark and humid vaults under the opera. His sight barely allowed him to delight; the feast of unknown sensations was at the tips of his fingers that had momentarily caressed the callused and strong hands of the man. 

Her mind was confused, was he in his dressing room with Raoul? She did go through the mirror? Where had the voice of the angel of music gone? He had been so furious when he allowed himself to be distracted by little Lottie and the tales that Raoul rekindled of the adorable childhood in Perros-Guirec. 

The ethereal angel whose voice flooded her dressing room every day before a soul was standing, except her, presented herself with her grace to carry the human Christine in her chastity mantle, she had always kept in her mind the image of a man so beautiful that he could not walk among mortals or a light so bright and blinding, full of purity just like his voice. So why did the voice have a half-face mask? 

Perhaps she fainted and it had all been a dream, but, although her vision was in complete darkness, a soft fabric felt with the touch, Christine was frightened when the clear light of the candles did not dazzle again. 

The strong voice breathing in her side caused the blood to heat up and Christine's entire body felt herself burning with flames that flooded her with pure and soft warmth, like that thief of the angel's voice. 

"And listen to the music of the night", that soft whispered against her skin consumed in flames only left her worse, wet under her piece of cotton that was part of the slave costume in Hannibal she could barely hide that embarrassing reaction by the soft voice that it slipped to that forgotten place. 

“… Surrender to your darkest dreams; purge your thoughts of the life you knew before”, the hunger for meat was uncontrollable, tempted him, tempted him by a beautiful face that was unable to see him, hardly feel and be touched by the infamous hands of the phantom, but the girl who was a charm in itself brought her hands dangerously close to the hasty knot that the phantom could barely create with his hands incapable of anything other than raping the face of sweet Christine with his hands, injured, callused and infamous. 

His ward was much better looking closer, her face was invaded by light precious spots, her round nose ending in a soft touch, her lips full like a red and wet fruit, half open waiting for only something that Christine Daaé only knew. 

The gaze focused on his face broke to take his pair of hands in a possessive grasp, the ghost would not have dared more, if not for the exited expression that his pupil maintained as a prayer to the almighty god who was more beyond the heavens, but like blasphemy, the ghost did not consider that even God or a creature like him could be worthy of witnessing the expression of absolute pleasure in Christine Daaé.

An adorable blush stained the cheeks that assimilated the forbidden fruit that Erik was extremely tempted to taste, to hurt the girl, to have blood flow, to make her cry and bathe her in her own blood. Her full lips were an absolute, half open waiting for "something" to fill her warm and wet mouth. Her face was raised with barely contained excitement, he seemed uselessly to hide the disaster she had caused with his voice, he was very aware of the hypnotic power that lay in his voice, a weapon that had been of so much use to him over time. Who had served the Shah of Persia in his youth and now, had subjected the sweet girl to that curse. 

But the phantom had been tempted and uselessly to hide his primal impulses to take the girl under him and fuck her like an animal to another, mercilessly and in search of only one thing: the pleasure of the flesh. 

I pray God that you hear my prayer, grant me that the impure desire leaves me.

She was like a bitch in heat, like those prostitutes who, when no one saw them, would walk down Rue Scribe looking for tough aristocrats willing to pay even the lowest of women. Madame Giry had condemned these women promiscuous ones deserved to be cursed by a poor woman who had been mourning her husband, who earned her daily bread honestly and who would never fall to such primal impulses.

Christine was cursed; she was one of those promiscuous women who craved the pleasure of the flesh, of the flesh of a masked man with rough hands that she desired on her body.

"Touch me, trust me", may God forgive her for longing to hit her female body against the male figure behind her, against the musk and hardness that was hidden from the gaze of the shy from Christine Daaé who listened while no one looked, the experiences that the ballet rats shared with each other, she had gathered enough information from the male sex to yearn for it.

She felt how the rigid hands outlined her figure trying to make her accept his indecent touch, Christine also found her hands slowly reaching the face of that angel of music, at the tips of her fingers, before being brusquely pushed away, and she felt the skin rigid and a strong jaw. When she opened her eyes because of the strong grip that sought to maintain a line between them, her gaze met nothing but her hands felt a tender and delicate touch studying her hands, touching her palms, her small and thin fingers, her short nails and the smooth skin of his hands, contrary to the callused and rough skin that the angel's hands wore.

Suddenly his hands were guided to feel the face of the masked man under his hands, the pronounced nose, and the eyes closed with long lashes and his full lips were music under his touch, it was beautiful.

But when Christine went further and felt a bulge, then another and then the face exposed to her touch, she was jerked away.


End file.
